Losing My Grip
by tere moto the sentry
Summary: After a fight with Dib results in an accident that leaves Zim severly injured, he realizes how much those closest to him mean to him. One shot. This isn't in first person like the title suggests.


**Author's Note:** Here's a Zim-based one-shot, which is also my first Zim-based fic that's in story form. Lack of proper grammar in GIR's dialogue is part of his style of speech and meant to be there.

**Disclaimer:** Jhonen Vasquez and Nickelodeon Studios own all the stuff related to "Invader Zim" except for the name "Schlople", which I made up.

Losing My Grip

A foot slamming into the underside of the computer keyboard broke the haunting silence of the control room. Invader Zim winced in pain and clutched his foot. This sort of thing hadn't happened for hours. He rubbed it a bit and went back to typing. This went well until his fingers suddenly lashed out uncontrollably and hit several keys almost at once.

Zim looked up. The screen now said, "Irken Neurology ftsmpkal/."

The backspace key went down without being pressed and came back up when the trail of gibberish after the word "Neurology" had been erased.

"I'm sure you didn't mean to type that," Zim's computer explained.

"Thank you," Zim half-smiled, and sank back in his hover chair. He massaged his knuckles, hoping this would keep his fingers under his control, and leaned back up to the computer again. But suddenly the alien's shoulder jerked back and hit the back of the chair.

"Ow," he said softly, and struggled to move his shoulder back into its previous position. But it remained stiff. He then tried reorganizing the rest of his body in order to move the shoulder forward, but nothing wanted to rotate or swivel for him.

That had happened a couple times in the past few days; parts of his body stiffening and remaining that way for a bit. Sometimes while he was typing, his fingers would freeze up and wouldn't move, or his eyes would snap shut and wouldn't open. It was frustrating, and Zim would try to work harder; perhaps soon he would find what he was looking for, and wouldn't have to put up with this much longer. Finally, his body loosened and he began typing again.

"From what I've gathered," he began, entering the same message he was whispering. Then his jaw clenched. His arms flew into the air and his foot went for the underside of the keyboard again.

"Stop it," he growled in agitation when his jaw would move again. His body soon relaxed. Zim sat back in the hover chair and took a deep breath.

"How long has it been?" he asked the computer.

"I've counted two weeks."

Zim nodded and laid his hands across his chest. He'd had the hover chair made not too long ago. He couldn't really trust his legs now. When he tried to walk, his legs would jerk out from under him, and he'd end up crawling to his destination.

It had only been two weeks. It felt like _years_ whenever Zim reflected.

_It had been a normal day of plotting and conspiring, of trying to keep the Dib-human off his back while plotting world conquest._

"_Zim, what are you planning?" the human asked._

"_Nothing of your concern," the Irken retorted._

"_Of course it's of my concern," Dib sneered, "you're trying to take over my species! That's my concern!"_

"_Just shut up."_

"_Tell me what you're planning first," the boy had now leaned slightly over the arm of his desk, which was as close to his enemy as he could get without having Ms. Bitters reprimand him for not being still._

"_I said shut up!" Zim raised his voice. Ms. Bitters had been asleep, and thus paid no attention._

_Zim sighed in agitation at the persistence of his enemy and continued working on his latest plan to enslave all humans. _

"_What are you planning?"_

"_That's it!" Zim shouted in frustration, "I've had it with you!" And with that he began scribbling down a new plan in his notebook, a plan that seemed much more satisfying to him…_

'_This is it,' he had thought, leaving the house with an unusual device tucked under his arm. He was just in time. Dib had snuck up to his house in disguise. Yes, that was Dib. Zim grinned. The boy didn't realize the hologram encasing him was flickering._

"_A paper clip salesman, eh, Dib?" Zim snickered._

_The human froze._

"_Ha, you need to fix that hologram projector," the alien proudly strutted over and thrust the small invention of his in front of Dib's face._

"_What's that?" Dib struck a fighting stance in preparation._

"_This here, Dib-human, is the weapon by which you will meet your end today," Zim announced, beaming._

"_No matter how powerful your weapons are, I'll always stop you!" a finger darted in Zim's direction to emphasize Dib's point._

_Zim threw back his head in scoffing laughter, the ever-present vocal representation of his enormous ego._

"_Not this time", he grinned, "not this time." He pressed a button on the device and waited. When nothing happened, Zim pressed the button again, and in a blur, a large pulse of some sort of electric energy shot out of the machine and traveled into Zim's body. The alien screamed and dropped his invention as a burning pain coursed through him, and he finally dropped to the ground unconscious._

_He woke up after what seemed like forever. Everything ached and tingled, and a jolting pain kept flowing up his body and down again. He looked around to see he was in his couch in his living room, and standing over him, looking concerned, was GIR and…Dib? Zim blinked, and as he looked on confused, his leg shot outward in a jerking, uncontrolled motion. Zim's eyes darted to the leg. He hadn't told it to move. What was going on? A blue light shone downward onto him, and then disappeared. Zim noticed his computer was running a diagnostic on him. Anxious to know what was wrong with him, the Irken cringed, but stopped when that made his body hurt worse. His leg twitched sharply again, and the rest of his limbs followed suit. GIR and Dib looked worried sick. What had happened? What was wrong with him? Why was he twitching like that?_

_After a period of silence, the computer came back with the scary results: Zim had suffered severe nerve damage. Dib had stared at the ground. The computer had remained silent. GIR had cried. Zim was shocked, but his blind determination gave him an advantage; he was soon working vigorously to find a way to fix himself. He had at first opted for self-surgery whenever he would find how to operate, but after the desperate pleading of GIR and the computer, he decided against it. Not only had he never been trained as an Irken surgeon, but also one involuntary twitch could cause a knife to slip…_

_So Zim had turned to Irken medical technology and experts for help. He had called the Almighty Tallest a few days after the accident, and asked them to put him through to a professional to schedule an appointment, but to Zim's utter surprise and despair, they had only laughed when he explained his situation and asked for their assistance. But the Tallest soon grew bored with the "joke", and became unsettled with seeing Zim's frequent twitching, and quickly ended the transmission. Zim had tried searching out and calling a surgeon himself, but wasn't able to call Irk back again._

"_Maybe the humans can help," GIR had comfortingly suggested._

_Zim had shaken his head "They wouldn't…They'd dissect me…" And he had stood by this viewpoint._

Zim now took a deep breath. It had been hard to focus on his research. The excessive jerking or freezing up of his nerves, and the attacks-oh, no, he didn't want to think of the nervous attacks…

The alien shoved the thought from his mind and continued typing notes. There was an eerie silence that hung in the control room whenever he paused. A gaping, empty space waiting in a standstill, as if urging him to be overcome by one of those dreaded nervous fits again. It brought to the surface a familiar anxiety that the Irken attained and repressed over the past two weeks. So he pressed on in an effort to keep some sort of sound in the room, meditating on the tapping of his fingers on the keys.

But soon he grew weary, tired. That had happened a lot lately. Exhaustion was a strange new feeling for him, since, as an Irken, he hadn't needed sleep before. He stopped typing for a moment, and the silence that resulted didn't seem as ominous as before. He just sat for a minute, glancing up at the screen every so often, and soon, out of the corner of his eye, a thin shaft of light appeared across the room and soon diminished. A door had been opened. Zim turned his head to look. Two blue-green eyes stared back. Zim smiled.

"Hi, GIR," he said in a slightly raspy voice.

"Hi," GIR said quietly, and began shuffling toward the Irken, "I wanted to see how you were doing." He half-smiled, but the usual youthful bliss was not on his face.

"I'm fine, thanks," Zim answered reassuringly.

GIR seemed a bit upset. "When you gonna get better? I miss spending time with you."

Zim eyed his research. "I'm close to a promising breakthrough. Can you wait a few more days?"

GIR nodded slowly, looking at the ground.

"It'll be alright," Zim whispered to the robot. They both shared a deep silence as they gazed at the metallic tile at their feet. But as they did so, a burning feeling quickly set on Zim's body. His squeedily-spooch leapt.

"Oh, no," he yelped, a lump forming in his throat. Everything began tingling, and then it began. His legs started kicking the hover chair's footrests. Both arms flew outwards and flailed violently around, striking the armrests repeatedly. The alien closed his eyes as his head shot to the side and banged against the back of the chair. But it wasn't only the fact that his body parts were jerking out of control, hitting hard objects, and the burning and tingling sensations that made it so awful, but the false electrical impulses that were harshly striking his nerves and telling them to move were too much for the already injured nerves-and it _hurt_. Worse yet, Zim was tormented by the question of if he would make it out of the fit alive…

The twitching, the pain, and the tingling finally subsided. The alien just sat there, sweaty and shaken. GIR, too terrified for words, was curled up on the ground sobbing.

"GIR," Zim squeaked pleadingly. The android got up slowly, then climbed up on his commander's lap and threw his arms around him. Zim, with some difficulty, moved his stiffened arms around GIR.

"Are you okay?" GIR asked almost inaudibly.

"I…I'm n-not sure..." Zim answered in a trembling voice.

"I don't wanna lose you…" GIR whispered softly.

"I'll be fine when this is over," the Irken smiled sadly.

"I hope so," GIR sniffled, "you're my best friend."

Zim felt his eyes grow hot.

"I wish this hadn't happened to you," the robot said.

"I know. But I made a mistake, GIR," Zim smiled a little again, "and we learn from mistakes. We…we build our lives that way."

GIR nodded and buried his face in Zim's shoulder, and Zim did the same with GIR's shoulder. Soon a faint but shrieking melody drifted through the closed door. Zim looked up.

"It sounds like 'The Scary Monkey Show' is on, GIR," he said, "why don't you go take your mind off things?"

GIR agreed with the suggestion, and reluctantly hopped off of Zim's lap and left the room.

Zim sighed, gazing around, and spotted a piano, a tub of chili, several varieties of exotic fruit, and a garden hose, resources gathered in a corner prior to the accident, to be used in his previous world conquest plan. He ached to return to tinkering with his outlandish and radical schemes. He took a deep breath and concentrated on his research again.

"The Irken nervous system is composed of…" Zim read down the long document his computer had earlier brought up for him and took notes that he found useful. But something was missing from the document.

"Computer?" the Irken asked.

"Yes, Zim?"

"Where is the section on Irken neurological injury?"

The computer paused. "I…couldn't find one."

"What?" Zim was taken by surprise, "run another search."

The computer fell silent, seeking the file.

"Nothing found."

"_It must be there!_" Zim raised his voice in frustration.

"Well, I did find _something_ you may find interesting."

"What?" Zim asked intently.

Without a word, the computer made small mechanical noises as the file was opened. A window popped up on the screen as a video was uploaded. Zim watched apprehensively as a helmeted announcer appeared on the screen.

"…and because of the recent rise in nerve-related injury, death, and all that among Invaders working with highly hazardous electrical machinery, Irken scientists have developed a safeguard program which will now be issued to all Invaders by being radio–transmitted and uploaded into their PAKs. Thus, all information on our cures for neurological injury will be erased from the Irken International Database for memory space. It has been noted that those of occupations other than Invaders may at least need the information, but the Almighty Tallest have recently made the important announcement that they don't care. Now back to you, Schlople…"

Zim's eyes darted to the top left corner of the screen. The words "Operation Impending Doom II: The Great Assigning live broadcast" were flashing there. He sat back in shock, almost speechless.

"But…I didn't get one of those…" he stared at the ground.

"Well, Zim, um…you're not a real Invader," his computer responded, "you're still encoded under food service on Foodcourtia, remember?"

Zim stared at the monitor in disbelief. "The Tallest…" he whispered under his breath, "_lied to me?_"

His arms were feeling a bit shaky, and his head steadily nodded back and forth. He glanced at the floor. Varied notes, printouts, data sheets, and portfolios were randomly scattered beneath him, fruits of his solemn struggle to regain his well-being. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands lightly against his chest.

"Computer…" he said in a barely audible whisper, "what if…?"

"You can make it, Zim," the computer assured, "but it might be best to call on the humans-"

"_No!_" Zim interrupted sternly, "they'll throw me on an autopsy table, damn it, and I don't want to hear any more about it!"

The door opened again, and then quietly closed. Zim looked up to a shadowy figure of about his size across the dimly lit room. The silhouette came closer, the green glow of the computer screen reflecting off his glasses, and a sizeable lock of dark hair arching from the top of his head. Dib stopped right next to Zim and gave him a meaningful gaze.

"Dib…" Zim smiled slightly.

"He's always asking about you," GIR commented, popping up from behind Dib, "every time I go grocery shopping, he wants to know how you're doing."

Zim gave the android a smile as well, and then noticed something about Dib. The boy still had his backpack on. Had the school day come and gone again? It was hard for him to keep track of time. Furthermore, Dib had come straight there from school?

"So how are you?" Dib asked.

"I think I'll be fine," Zim told him, and then the alien paused, "Dib, I would never have wished this upon you…this wasn't even what the machine was supposed to do. It was meant to…to…" His jaw was tightening again, so he couldn't finish.

"…turn me into a moose?" Dib grinned. Zim nodded and rubbed his jaw when it relaxed. They were all still for a moment, and then Zim suddenly began to feel warm…and warmer…and it wasn't a comfortable type of warm…and then the tingling…no, no, not again…

The onslaught of jerking and thrashing was overwhelming, the unmerciful shocks of pain sent Zim's world spinning furiously. His arms struck the chair, his legs flailed wildly, and it was quickly becoming by far the worst fit he had experienced. GIR, the computer, and Dib, not knowing what to do, watched in agony.

"Your dad can probably fix him, can't he?" GIR begged Dib.

"Maybe." Seeing this, it was hard for Dib not to offer help, "Zim, I can take you to my dad and-Zim, can you…can you hear me?"

Zim slowly began to ease out of the attack after what seemed like forever, the fiery pain gradually dying down. But this time was different. Before, it had seemed like he was coming back into reality, now it felt as if he were slipping farther from it. Zim looked around. Everything had stopped whirling around him, but it all seemed to look a little fuzzy. The Irken shuddered as he began to feel like he was losing his grip…his grip on everything. There was a voice off in the distance, calling, "Zim, can you…can you hear me?" and he could, but it all seemed so far away. Another voice was pleading, "Master…Zim…please don't leave me…", but…leaving? Zim looked down. He saw two arms and two legs quivering, which he identified as his own, but he felt disconnected from them, as if he were no longer a part of them. He looked up, and his vision was perfected just long enough to see GIR, the computer, and Dib staring at him. But despite their frantic faces, he couldn't help but smile. They really were going to miss him…

Zim smiled once more, and then his world fell black.

All was absolutely void of sound in the control room for the longest time, and then Dib, seeing that GIR was beginning to sob, placed a hand on the robot's shoulder.

"He was too stubborn to accept our help, wasn't he?" the human said.

"No," GIR looked back at his now still leader, "he didn't realize you would."

**Author's Note:** Hope you liked that. I wanted to finish it earlier, but sometimes I'm a little lazy about these things. Praise and constructive criticism are appreciated.


End file.
